Remember This
by Onari
Summary: Dean looked exhausted all day. If he happened to be awake whenever Sam was asleep, and he was also awake when Sam was awake, when did Dean actually sleep at all? Angst, hurt!Dean Worried!Sam Spoilers for AHBL1and2
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everybody? How's summer treating you? Turns out I had too much spare time and instead of going to the beach (****Hey, I'm not THAT pale, anyway, and jellyfishes aren't fun) I came out with this story. It was intended to be a one-shot, but it sort of…became too much for one installment. I'll probably post it into three, but don't worry, it's already pretty much done, so it'll be updated in a couple of days.**

**This said, I warn you it's not the greatest story ever, just something that popped up and I had to get it out of my system o get on with my life :D Please do not judge me for this particular piece alone! Flame me for my work as a whole! LOL**

**Thanks so much to Emrys, my beta, who has worked especially hard in this. Half of the credit is hers.**

**Disclaimer****: The usual**

**A/N****: I think I pretty much covered that.**

**Summary** Dean looked exhausted all day. Dark circles appeared under his eyes, and he needed three times more coffee to keep functioning. He happened to be awake whenever Sam was asleep. But if he was also awake when Sam was awake, when did Dean actually sleep at all? Spoilers for AHBL I/II

**-Remember This-**

The first time Sam woke up to find Dean watching him, he didn't give it too much thought. Their beds were side by side and he had rolled in his sleep so that he had ended up facing his brother. Dean was awake. End of story. In fact, Sam was kind of glad to see his brother's eyes open, since he had just had a nightmare. Not one of those tossing-and-turning-before-jolting-awake-with-a-scream nightmares, but a dark, shapeless dream that had woken him up without much fuss. Regardless, it had left him with a clenching uneasiness in his stomach.

"Hey," Sam muttered sleepily.

He couldn't quite make out Dean's expression in the dim light, but he did see his brother's lips tug up to draw a little smile. As if by magic, the memory of Sam's dream faded away.

Dean probably asked him if he was okay, and he must have answered back. But as the pull of sleep grew imperious again, the conversation became one of those midnight talks that took place somewhere in between vigil and sleep. Sam knew, in a vague sort of way, that in the morning he would doubt whether the conversation had really taken place at all.

It happened again a couple of times that week and, after that, it kept happening through the following month. Sam woke up, in a motel bed or in the passenger's seat of the Impala, and Dean's eyes were on him. Most times, his older brother simply looked away the second Sam blinked himself awake. Other times, their eyes briefly locked before Dean averted his. But always, _always_, Sam would glimpse something flickering in Dean's eyes, an emotion as unidentifiable as it was strong but which barely lasted a second before Dean's mask was firmly back in place.

Sam wanted to ask Dean what was going on, but the older hunter just brushed the questions off with long-practiced ease. Sam wasn't sure whether Dean's behaviour bothered him, weirded him out or just made him curious.

Then, he started to notice that Dean looked exhausted all day. Dark circles appeared under his eyes, and he needed three times more coffee to keep functioning. All curiosity, disturbance or awkwardness was automatically pushed aside and Sam became downright concerned. The fact was that as far as he knew, Dean happened to be awake whenever he was asleep. But if he was also awake when Sam was awake, ―aside from the occasional cat naps in the passenger seat when Sam was at the wheel― when did Dean actually sleep?

That is if he slept at all?

That night when they turned in after a long day on the road, Sam fought the pull of sleep to focus instead on his brother's breathing pattern. At the same time, he tried to keep his own breathing as even as possible in order to convince Dean he was asleep. A couple of hours later, Dean was still awake, his gaze boring holes into Sam's back. The younger hunter decided he had had enough. He turned around in the bed and faced Dean, who blinked in surprise and flinched momentarily.

And there it was again, that damn _something_ shining behind his eyes and which Sam seemed unable to grasp.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Sam asked before Dean had a chance to get on guard.

"What do you mean _this_?" Dean retorted.

"This staring, man. What's that about?"

"Geez, sorry princess. I promise I won't look in your direction ever again!"

Annoyed as usual by Dean's exasperating, defensive front, Sam huffed and made a conscious effort not to be deterred by it. He had learned through experience that the more of an ass Dean was, the worse whatever he was bottling up inside was.

"Are you having nightmares?" Sam inquired in a softer tone.

All things considered it would be natural for Dean to be tormented by bad dreams after what had happened in the last month, Sam thought. His disappearance and death, the deal, the fight against the yellow eyed demon, seeing their father again. The countdown—

Unfortunately, Sam knew a lot about nightmares himself, so he could easily sympathise.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the other bed and let out a weary sigh. Sam remained silent, waiting, although he doubted his brother would agree to open up. That's why he was surprised when Dean spoke.

"It's not that."

Sam gulped. He hadn't noticed before but the truth was Dean didn't just _look_ tired, he _sounded_ absolutely worn-out. The younger sibling turned on his side to survey his brother's profile and took in the overwhelming air of misery that marred Dean's features.

"Then, what is it?" he pushed gently.

Dean chewed his lower lip without tearing his eyes from the safe blankness of the ceiling. He swallowed once, twice, before Sam's concerned eyes.

"Dean?" Sam started with a thin voice. "What-"

"You died, Sam."

Sam's words caught in his throat. For once, his brother had left him speechless.

"You died in my arms. You were dead for 24 hours, lying there, in that bed, with your eyes closed. You—" Dean trailed off and Sam heard the tears in his voice before he actually saw one rolling down his temple and onto the pillow. "You were cold, and your chest wasn't moving and your heart…your heart wasn't _beating,_ and I was looking at you for a whole fucking day and now—" Dean swallowed, and his voice cracked. Sam had to look away, blinking furiously. "Now, I just can't—"

"Dean-"

"No, Sam. I've tried, okay? Don't you think that I've _tried_?" Dean snorted self-derisively. "But it's just- Every time you close your eyes I… I can't close mine. I can't go to sleep and not make sure that you're alive. Sometimes it's like—"

"Like what?" Sam whispered.

"Like I can't breathe until I see you awake again."

Sam shook his head sadly.

"Dean." He sighed.

"Don't. You wanted to know. Well, now you know. Whatever you think you need to say to me, I've already said to myself, so save it." Dean said fiercely. "Just go back to sleep. You were pretty wiped out."

"But you-"

"I'll be fine."

Sam let out a dry chuckle. He knew Dean well enough to realize that as far as the older hunter was concerned, the conversation had ended. But of course, he wasn't naive enough to be fooled by his brother's words.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam gulped his fourth cup of coffee greedily and hoped it would kick in soon. He was sick of feeling like a sleep-deprived zombie. It wasn't surprising that he hadn't been able to get anymore sleep after the unexpected turn of his conversation with his brother under the cover of darkness.

Dean had barely talked to him all morning. Actually he had been avoiding him altogether. At the first ray of light, he had gone for breakfast and then busied himself with the car. For the last forty-five minutes he had been cleaning his weapons, which was the simplest way for him to communicate that he had secluded himself into his very own little bubble, and Sam wasn't allowed anywhere near for the time being.

Sam was forced to watch his brother's distress from his uncomfortable position on the sidelines. God, he fucking hated being put in this position! He had been forced to stay and watch from the edges way too often in his 24 years of life, and he still felt just as helpless as he had the first time it happened. Forced into inaction, he wasn't able to stop going through his brother's confession in his mind and reliving his words.

Basically, Sam was driving himself crazy.

He lifted his eyes to study Dean for any sign that he might be willing to discuss the situation. Considering Dean had yet to raise his gaze from the guns, it wasn't hard to take the hint and deduce that the other Winchester still wasn't in the mood for talking. Despite the real possibility that he may go nuts in the very near future if he didn't get to talk to his brother soon, Sam didn't have the heart to push again. He was conscious that the only reason Dean had talked to him the previous night was because Sam had taken advantage of him in a vulnerable moment. And to make matters even more complicated, Sam couldn't help but be aware that Dean was bitterly regretting that minute of openness that had caused his little brother to lose some needed hours of rest.

Leaning over the table, Sam pillowed his head in his hands and sighed. Trying to pretend he was engrossed in the search for their next gig, he clicked disheartenedly at the laptop. He used the reflection from the screen to covertly watch his brother and cringed inwardly when he saw Dean look up at him as soon as his back was turned. Sometimes, it really felt as if the only way they dared look at each other anymore was indirectly, just as they didn't interchange more than veiled half-words.

A few minutes later, a repetitive click tinged with impatience dragged Sam's attention back to Dean. He used the reflection on the screen again to see that Dean was struggling to put the clip of his .45 back in place. Sam frowned as he took in the subtle tremble in his brother's hands that was certainly making it hard for him to complete a task that Dean normally could have done in his sleep—if he actually would allow himself to sleep, that is.

"Shit," Dean said, huffing quietly when the clip slipped from his hand and clacked against the floor.

Sam turned in his chair and opened his mouth to speak. In the last moment though, he remained silent. Dean didn't try to pick up the clip but remained seated where he was with his head hanging low. Sam got up, picked up the part himself and held it out to Dean as he stood in front of him. Dean took a couple of seconds before reaching out for the clip with a tired gesture and after that, he left the gun and the clip aside, and kept his eyes glued to the floor.

Unconsciously mimicking Dean's position, Sam sat across from Dean and waited. They looked like specular reflections sitting there, the silence broken only by Sam's intermittent sighing. After a while, the silence became unbearable, even for Dean who often used it as a hiding place. The older sibling ended up reluctantly raising his eyes and fixing his little brother with a mortified look.

_What?_ He seemed to be screaming at Sam.

"We need to talk," Sam stated.

Dean glowered at him for a split second before averting his eyes and fixing them on some well-defined point on the wall.

Okay, wrong approach.

"How long has this been going on?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged noncommittally as he fingered the clip of the discarded gun. His body language was clearly telling Sam to back off, but Sam wasn't about to let Dean off the hook this time. When it came to his brother's wellbeing, he could be as stubborn as Dean was reserved.

"Dean?"

The older hunter glared at Sam, although the heat in his gaze was tempered by the tired shadows that dulled his usually expressive eyes. Sam met his brother's eyes squarely although he feared that if he allowed it to become a stare contest between the two of them, his good intentions could backfire. Dean didn't react well when he felt pushed against the ropes.

"A while," Dean answered with a tone devoid of emotion.

Sam rolled his eyes, well aware that Dean's admission could mean days, weeks or months in his brother's language. To think about Dean watching over him in his sleep —terrified that he might stop breathing at any second— without getting any rest himself all that time, made Sam feel extremely guilty for not catching on earlier.

"Well, one thing's for sure: you look like crap," Sam said. He gave Dean a little smile in an attempt to keep his brother from feeling like a caged animal. His own efforts also helped Sam feel less like a vicious hunter toying with its prey. Hell, they were brothers. He shouldn't be feeling like he was inflicting the worst kind of torture on Dean when he was simply trying to get him to talk.

Dean was fidgeting and looked ready to bolt if Sam insisted on keeping up with the interrogation. Nevertheless, he acknowledged Sam's attempt to ease the stress, and his features softened marginally in recognition. At the subtle release of tension, Dean sagged a little. Sam took in his brother's ragged appearance with a bitter sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"You can't be up 24/7, Dean," he said softly.

Dean shook his head. Sam knew he would have rolled his eyes at the obvious remark if he had the strength to be snarky. The fact that he didn't was just more evidence to prove he wasn't really feeling so great.

"I'm not up 24/7, Sam," Dean replied, quoting his brother's words with an extra edge of irritation in his voice.

"Really? When was the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday."

"I don't mean taking a nap in the Impala," Sam huffed. "When was the last time you had a good night sleep? Or at least six straight hours?"

Dean set his jaw and remained silent.

"So?" Sam pushed.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean growled and stood up, giving Sam his back, "What do you want from me?"

"How about the truth?" Sam stood up too, losing a good part of his self-control when Dean turned his back on him.

He hated when Dean refused to look at him.

"You already know the truth!" Dean bit back. "You just get a kick out of hearing me say it!"

"That's not-" Sam protested, horrified. "I just want to help you!"

"Then drop it already!" Dean yelled, swirling around to face him.

Sam stepped back and bit his lip before breaking eye contact and pacing the short distance that separated him from the bathroom door, with his hands entwined behind his neck. _Calm down_, he repeated to himself over and over again. _This is about him, you don't want to fight, just calm down..._

"Listen to me," Sam said, exhaling cautiously. He looked back at Dean, who was now stubbornly facing the wall in an act of resistance. It was a feeble act, but it got to Sam anyway, especially since the only sign that Dean acknowledged his little brother's presence was the nervous energy that caused his shoulders to tense. "Are you listening?"

It took a moment, but Sam held his ground and eventually Dean gave in.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm listening," Dean answered, his voice halfway between a grunt and a sigh. "I'm listening."

"Maybe we should try to get separate rooms for a while—"

Dean's head jerked up, and he turned around at the remark. Fear bordering on panic shined in his brother's gaze, and its uncharacteristic presence made Sam gulp and look away.

"Maybe it would be easier for you to catch some rest if I'm...well, _not there,_" he hurriedly explained.

"Yeah?" Dean said coldly. "And how do you figure that?"

Sam bit his tongue at the callous edge to his brother's voice. Right, maybe it hadn't been the smartest idea he'd ever had. Dean couldn't sleep because he was afraid of something happening to Sam; it would hardly make it easier for him to have a wall between his protective self and his little brother.

"But there must be something that we can do," Sam said, feeling close to defeat. "If I hadn't-"

"Sam," Dean spoke sternly, "this is _not_ your fault."

"But it is _because_ of me, Dean," Sam stressed. "Damn, there must be something that _I_ can do!"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Dean said and sighed as he sat back on the bed heavily. "You already do the one thing I want you to do," he added, meeting his brother's eyes. "You wake up every morning, Sam."

Sam's chest suddenly constricted, and he had to set his jaw hard to keep his chin from trembling.

"Dean—"

"That's all I need, Sammy," Dean said, cutting him off. "That's all I ask."

The honesty of those words, along with the plea they contained hit Sam hard and stole his breath as effectively as a blow. Emotion overcome reason, the weak grip he had kept during the conversation vanished, and he found himself nodding without even realizing he was doing it. He was hurting Dean. He was hurting him with his insistence. And even if he rationally knew it was for Dean's own good, he couldn't bring himself to keep pressing once his brother openly begged him to stop.

At least as openly as Dean could possibly be. Openly enough for Sam to hear it loud and clear and give in to it.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The following night, Sam tossed and turned restlessly in his bed as sleep eluded him. He wasn't able to stop thinking about Dean, who was lying a few feet from him and was just as awake as Sam. Minutes turned into hours, and the younger hunter finally stilled in a conscious attempt to force his body to relax. The physical turmoil that had kept the Sandman away since Sam had turned in moved from his muscles to his mind. There, his thoughts wouldn't stop swirling and kept him just as wired as if he was continuously changing his physical position.

"So it's a competition now? To see who can stay awake the longest?" Weary and rough but also adorned with a note of amusement, Dean's voice suddenly drifted across the gap between their beds. "I thought you outgrew that phase a long time ago."

Lying on his stomach, Sam snorted against the pillow he had his head buried in.

"Very funny," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow's softness.

They remained silent for a minute, each of them breathing quietly into the dark. Then Dean spoke again.

"Dude, this is stupid. There's no reason for the two of us to be awake when at least one could be sleeping," he said, trying to sound reasonable.

Sighing deeply, Sam turned onto his back and blinked lazily at the crack in the paint on his side of the ceiling.

_It's going to fall down. Any moment now._

"I've been thinking," Sam said softly, picturing his brother's rolling eyes even if he wasn't really looking at him. "If you don't w— If you can't…If you won't sleep when I do…Maybe you should sleep while I'm awake."

The older hunter didn't answer right away.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked cautiously after a beat.

"I mean that…you could…I dunno, try to get some rest during the day, while I drive or work on the laptop. Or you take the nights if you prefer…I really don't mind," Sam elaborated.

"You're talking about…like taking shifts?"

"Well…yeah. Something like that, I guess." Sam gave a weak shrug.

Dean remained silent for a long while after that. In the end, Sam rolled his head on the pillow to face his brother whose frown was furrowed with deep thought.

"Dean?"

"No, Sam. It's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"Haven't you considered the possibility that I might actually want to spend some time _awake_ with you?" Dean said with a strained voice. "I've got less than a year. I'm not gonna spend it taking turns to sleep."

Sam sat up in the bed so fast that his back almost cracked.

"Don't say that," he ordered.

"It's the truth."

"No!" Sam exclaimed. "I told you it's not gonna come to that. I won't let it come to that!"

Dean took in a deep breath and looked away from the ceiling and away from Sam. The younger hunter felt a wave of heart-clenching anger rising inside him.

"When exactly did it happen, Dean?" he snarled. "When exactly did you stop fighting?"

Confronted with Dean's wall-like silence, Sam felt every nerve ending in his body tingle with fury and denial. Blinking back the frustrated tears born from these two emotions, he tossed back the covers and stood up with a huff.

"Well, you may have given up already," he said hoarsely, as in a single fluid movement he crossed the room, sat down at the desk, and turned on the computer, "but I haven't."

"It's three in the morning, Sam. What the hell are you doing?"

"Research."

"Sam—"

"Humour me. And try to get some sleep while you're at it. I'm gonna need you alert."

"Sam-"

"Besides, there's no reason for the two of us to be awake when at least one could be sleeping, right?"

"S-"

"It's all _I_ need, Dean. It's all _I_ ask," Sam said.

It was a low blow, tossing back his brother's words against him like that, but Sam was desperate enough to pull out his own pleading card if necessity called for it.

He heard an impatient sigh that was followed by the soft rustling of sheets. Swallowing hard around the desperation lodged in his throat, Sam held his breath in anticipation of Dean's next move.

_Please, Dean. Fight. I can't do this alone. Just fight._

"Okay."

Sam's heart skipped a beat then immediately increased speed to make up for it. His eyes momentarily slipped closed in relief.

_Thanks._

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

During the following days they tried, they _really_ tried to make it work. Whenever they were working on a case, Sam took on all the research and forced Dean to get some sleep while he worked so he would be more or less rested and alert for the hunt. Whenever they were on the road, Sam took the wheel and Dean dozed off next to him.

It wasn't perfect, far from that, but Dean only seemed able to catch some sleep when he had the certainty of Sam being awake. From a practical point of view, finding a way not to sleep at the same time was tricky at best, and it was also emotionally eroding. At the end of the day neither of them got enough rest, and when they were awake they weren't in the mood for talking or doing much of anything else.

Despite all the inconvenience though, it was the best solution Sam's overworked brain had been able to come up with. Well, to be precise, it had been the only solution. It wasn't easy for Sam to close his eyes knowing the stress it caused Dean. But he also knew that he needed to sleep, even if it was only for a few hours a day, so that he would be more or less able to keep on researching in order to fulfill his promise. He trusted that with a bit of time, they would get used to the routine. It wasn't as if they weren't already used to going without much sleep, and even though he missed Dean's incessant chatter ―especially when he was driving―, Sam figured he could live without it as long as his brother stopped looking dead on his feet.

However, things were never that easy. One afternoon, in spite of all his promises to the contrary, Sam couldn't help it and fell asleep over the laptop while he waited for a webpage to load with the feeble wi-fi signal the motel they were staying at provided. Dean had been sleeping on top of the covers of his bed when Sam let his eyes slip closed. When he opened them, his brother was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and was looking at him with a haunted expression.

"God… Dean." Sam shook his head to clear his sleep-laden thoughts as he struggled to get his bearings. "I… I'm s-"

Dean silenced him with a curt shake of his head and got up by using the wall to support himself. Sam bit his lip. He felt awful, utterly miserable. Of course, Dean didn't blame him for falling asleep, but Sam could read on his face the remnants of the panic that had surely taken hold of him the second he had woken up to find his little brother out cold on the table.

From that day on no matter how much Sam insisted, Dean abjectly refused to close his eyes even when Sam was up. His sleep time was reduced to the naps he took in the car, which were restless and fragmented. Soon enough it started to take its toll on him. The inevitable happened in the middle of a hunt. When Dean was sluggish. When he was too slow.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC. Soon, I promise. T****hanks for reading! And since I don't want to be chewing my nails over reviews…I'm going out to buy myself some clothes :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**See? It didn't take long! I was planning to update tomorrow, but after all your nice reviews, I just had to hurry. Thank you all for your support. Now, on with the story…**

**-Remember This-**

"Dammit! Shit, Dean. Goodammit!" Sam cursed under his breath as he half-dragged, half-carried his brother into the room.

The older hunter let out a grunt, but other than that he remained silent. His shirt was sticky, soaked in sweat and blood from the gash across his abdomen. Although it had stopped bleeding profusely a few minutes ago, Dean had still lost a lot of blood.

Finally in the room, Sam helped Dean to the bed closest to the door and propped him against the headboard before rushing for the first-aid kit. Back with his brother, he cut off Dean's shirt and carefully peeled it away from the wound. Dean hissed, and Sam spared him a brief glance. The older man's eyes were closed, and his face was scrunched in pain. Sam's heart was pounding hard inside his chest, and he had to avert his eyes, because the hated to see Dean in pain; it made his stomach twist and churn, and his eyes sting.

Sam swallowed his emotions down, steeled himself against Dean's discomfort, and focused on the wound. After cleaning it the best he could, he could finally see that it wasn't too bad. It was definitely going to need stitches, but nothing vital had been affected and Dean wasn't bleeding to death anymore.

The rush of knee-weakening relief that washed over him with the realization elicited a short snort from the younger hunter. It had been too close. A few inches deeper or in a more delicate spot, and that would have been it.

Sam's hands started to shake. He felt the urge to laugh again, but his vision was tunnelling and his emotions bubbled so close to the surface it would take only the slightest push to have them exploding all over the place. He swallowed convulsively in his fight to get a grip, but when he felt his throat closing up, his breath hitched and he knew he was bordering on panic.

Luckily, in that moment he felt Dean's grounding hand brushing his, and he instinctively raised his eyes to meet his brother's gaze.

"It's okay," Dean said, as steadily as he could manage. "I'm okay."

Ashamed, Sam gave a curt nod and looked down, forcing some air into his lungs and trying to hide the fact that Dean's soft, reassuring tone had brought him even closer to tears.

"It's- " Sam cleared his throat, "It's gonna need stitches."

Dean nodded his agreement. His permission, so to speak. Sam pulled away from his brother's hand and stood up awkwardly.

"I'll bring you something for the pain," he mumbled as his gaze spotted their duffle bags.

"No."

Sam turned around to face Dean, surprise evident on his face.

"_No_?"

"I don't want painkillers," Dean clarified.

"B-But—" Sam stuttered, absolutely taken aback.

Sure, Dean had never been crazy about drugs, but he had a gash across his belly! Besides, it wasn't as if they kept a stash of morphine locked in the trunk. Tylenol or Advil wouldn't go beyond taking the edge off the pain. At most, it would make his brother sleepy…

"You've got to be kidding me," Sam growled, as soon as the reason behind Dean's refusal hit him.

Dean's eyes didn't waver from Sam's which were now sparkling with fury. His brother's calmness unnerved him and all the fear that had gripped him when he had seen his brother on the ground became mingled with rage in his tone.

"This is ridiculous, Dean! You have your damn stomach ripped open, for Christ's sake! And your main concern is that you might fall asleep?

Dean's eyes hardened defensively. Never good at dealing with his own vulnerability when it was out in the open, the older Winchester's retort was laced with venom.

"It's _my_ damn stomach," he hissed, "and that makes it _my_ damn call. I don't want painkillers, Sam, and that's final."

Sam glared back at him. The tension mounted and the air between them became so charged it was only a matter of time before it caught fire.

"Well," Sam shot back, "I'm not stabbing a damn needle into your flesh without using something to dull the pain, Dean. And that's final."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yeah, fine. I'll just grab the kit and do it myself," Dean said, snarling. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Sam set his jaw so hard he almost pulled a muscle. Okay, that was so not fair. Muttering words that suspiciously resembled, "Stupid asshole," he stood up and stomped his way to the bathroom to retrieve some towels. He then grabbed the kit he had left on the floor, sat back on the bed and dropped the kit between them. The movement jarred Dean's abused body, and he bit back a gasp, but after a moment he pulled it together and was reaching out for the kit with determination. Sam clenched his teeth and batted his brother's hand away, earning himself a new glare from Dean.

"I'll do it," Sam scoffed.

The words 'stupid' and 'asshole' were back, dwelling unmistakably in his tone.

Dean's glare turned into cautious scrutiny, but Sam avoided it altogether and focused on the wound. He might have relented ―because, well, he might behave like a brat sometimes, but he wasn't going to sit down and watch his brother stitch himself up―, but he was still furious. The sight of Dean's injury did nothing but add fuel to his anger.

Sam was well aware of the dangers of their job. And he knew that sometimes it was inevitable that they got hurt. However, this time it could have been prevented. It hadn't been an accident, but a mistake born of exhaustion and _that_ was something unacceptable. That could cost them too fucking much.

Then _of course_, Dean had to be stubborn about it. Leave it to Dean "Invincible" Winchester to refuse a damn pill that would certainly make their lives easier; at least for Sam, who wouldn't have to be working with the soundtrack of his brother's pained breathing every time he inserted the needle into his flesh.

_Stupid. Stupid asshole!_, Sam thought, jabbing the needle into Dean's flesh a bit harder than necessary. Dean flinched, and Sam swallowed bitterly. For a second he was vengefully glad that his stoic brother hadn't been able to hide the pain. It was Dean who had gotten himself into this mess, and it served him right.

That was only for a second, though. Until his brother's reaction sank in and caused him to look up. Dean was sweating, far too pale, and stared at Sam with a mixture of confusion, apology and aggravation through shiny eyes. Sam could almost hear the silent hurt of his expression as it conveyed, _I thought you understood_.

And maybe he didn't understand, but that wasn't the point. It was an unspoken rule between them that when they were taking care of each other's injuries all other tension or friction was to be left aside. These moments were complicated and their balance was extremely delicate, since they were about the only times either man allowed himself to appear vulnerable before the other. Even though it was a given that they would be inflicting pain during the patching up process, there was an implicit trust that it wouldn't be more than what was strictly necessary.

Sam had betrayed that intimacy, and now it was all he could do to look down sheepishly and swallow hard. Unable to find an apology that entirely covered how lousy he felt, he kept his head stubbornly low and avoided his brother's eyes. He worked on the wound with extreme gentleness to make up for his previous behaviour. After a few minutes, he had to start blinking periodically to clear his vision, which was blurry with tears, because he didn't want to raise a hand to wipe at them and give his silent crying away.

Once he was done with the stitches, he tightly bandaged his brother's midsection, a procedure that elicited a muffled groan from Dean. Sam could imagine how hard ―not to say painful― this ordeal was for the older hunter. Putting aside the kit, Sam ducked his head and wiped his eyes hastily, before turning back to Dean with his gaze downcast. He rested a hand over his brother's wrapped abdomen. Dean's breathing was shallow, and his skin felt a little warm to the touch, but Sam knew that his brother had gotten through worse.

Then why did Sam feel as if Dean could vanish the moment he closed his eyes?

Chewing his lip, Sam rubbed Dean's bruised stomach mindlessly, drawing small, gentle circles with his fingertips. He kept his palm flat against the bandaged muscles, allowing it to absorb some of the warmth. He stayed like that for a little while, momentarily reluctant to let go. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at Dean for the first time since he had hurt him.

Instead of the reproachful expression he was expecting, he found a thankful, warm look in Dean's eyes —a muted smile shining in them around the pain.

"Thanks, Sammy," he said softly.

Sam felt his chest tightening at the heartfelt tone of his brother's words. The way Dean thanked him after tending to his wounds always struck a chord in him. When positions were reversed and Sam was the one doing the thanking, he did it as a sign of appreciation, a kind of "love you too" in answer to Dean's gentle ministrations. However, when Dean said the words, he sounded honestly grateful, as if he really had to _thank_ Sam for taking care of him.

As if it was a special favour Sam had no obligation to grant.

It killed Sam that Dean didn't take him for granted. That while he insisted taking care of his little brother was his job, he doubted that Sam felt the same way. Then again, it was probably Sam's fault too. So far, he hadn't done such a great job proving his brother wrong.

Sam shook his head, awkwardly. He didn't deserve Dean's gratitude. Maybe if he had been a little bit faster when the beast attacked Dean—

No. The truth was that Sam should have found a way to stop this mess _before_ it became dangerous for both of them. Instead, he had tried to go around it. He had looked the other way and trusted a quick fix to keep them going in the most classical Winchester way. In short, he had allowed it all to grow out of control.

Dean would have known how to fix it for real if it was Sam who was hurting. He had always known how.

It was Dean's attempts to stand up that startled Sam back from his guilt-trip and into reality.

"What are you doing?" Sam croaked, regaining his voice.

"Help me up," Dean breathed. "I need coffee."

With a frown, the younger brother pushed him gently back.

"Dean, no," he started.

"Sam—" Dean countered, but he wasn't strong enough to fight his brother and instead slumped back against the pillow with a grimace. He shook his head dazedly, trying to keep his eyes open despite being half-vertical. "Sammy," he murmured.

Sam bit his lip. It was hard to see Dean so weak that he resorted to begging instead of fighting back. He sounded so tired. So _sad_. Dean shouldn't sound like that, and yet, Sam was only now starting to notice how often exhaustion and sadness burdened his brother voice lately.

"You need to sleep," Sam said thickly. "You…dammit, you deserve to rest."

Dean sighed. His eyes were starting to glaze over.

"You too," he mumbled.

Sam snorted bitterly. Yeah, he definitely needed to rest too. But leave it to Dean to make _him _the center of the conversation.

"We can't go on like this," Sam said, worriedly.

Dean set his jaw and averted his haunted eyes. Sam took a deep breath and pulled out his last card again. The one he hated to use on Dean the most.

"_I_ can't go on like this."

Dean's attention darted back to Sam and the older hunter studied him wearily. Sam held his gaze, squirming internally. Finally, Dean looked down, defeated, and Sam's heart lodged in his throat.

It was also his most effective card to play.

"You're right," Dean whispered.

Sam blinked, momentarily stunned.

"Come again?"

"You're right." Dean repeated, louder, looking up at his brother. "You're right, Sam. It's just—"

"I know," Sam said.

Dean gave him a little smile for letting him off the hook. The brothers remained silent for a minute, and Dean's eyelids began to drop. He sank deeper into the pillows as his body grew heavier. Aware that he was falling asleep, Dean made a last, weak attempt to move, but his body didn't respond. He fisted the sheets in frustration and let out a helpless groan. Witnessing his brother's misery, Sam pulled away the hand he had kept on Dean's chest and placed it on his brother's wrist.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, ready to give in. "Want me to help you to the car and drive for a while, or…?"

"I want you to get some sleep."

Sam closed his eyes for a second and shook his head.

"Dean, you-"

"I'll get some sleep too," he rasped. "It's not like…God!" A sudden wave of pain contorted his face and forced him to hold his breath. When it passed and Dean exhaled, he looked all kinds of spent. "It's not like coffee is gonna make any difference at this point," he finished, his voice merely a puff of air.

Sam, who had tightened his grip on Dean's wrist when his brother's features collapsed in agony, considered his next words carefully.

"Are you sure, Dean?" he asked, seeking confirmation that Dean was okay with them sleeping at the same time.

"Yeah," Dean breathed. "It's bound to happen at some point. It may as well be today."

He tried to sound nonchalant, but his actions betrayed him when he shifted his hand so that he was the one holding Sam's wrist. Immediately, his thumb found his brother's pulse point and settled over it.

"Just—" Dean added in a fading voice, "don't—"

"I won't," Sam reassured him, knowing instinctively what his brother was trying to say.

_Don't go anywhere. Don't you die_. And also, _Please, stay awake while I still am._

Sam sighed sadly, realizing in how many ways Dean had always needed that promise from him.

_Please, let me go first_.

If only that was as easy as keeping vigil over him. If only Dean hadn't managed to take that promise to a level far, far beyond the realm of tolerance when he had offered his life for Sam's in the most stupid, reckless and self-destructive possible way.

Sam had had to forgive Dean for it, though. Not only because his brother had pleaded to him not to be mad, but because he recognized that it had been the only time Dean had ever actually acted selfishly. It had been the only time he had put himself first and just gotten what he needed, the rest of the world be damned. Sam needed to respect that, although he certainly wished Dean could have found another way to be happy. One that didn't involve bringing him back from the dead.

Now, as Dean surrendered to sleep, Sam renewed his promise to save him no matter what. _That_, and to be awake before him. It was the least he could do.

If only all promises were so easy to keep.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam woke up to the feeling of frantic hands roaming up his arms and shaking him. He opened his eyes but at first was unable to see anything in the darkness of the room. What time was it? He had hoped to wake up early in the morning —he had even set the alarm on his watch to make sure of it—, so that he would be up before Dean, who had fallen into a deep sleep as soon as he had let himself go.

_Dean…_

"Wake up! Sammy, wake up!"

It was Dean's voice calling him; his hands on his shoulders. And something was very wrong. Even with his mind still half trapped in the cobwebs of sleep and his heart beating too fast after having been startled awake, he could hear the distress in his brother's tone and the panic in his touch.

"Please, wake up. Please, Sam, open you eyes—"

"Dean?" Sam muttered groggily. He could now distinguish his brother's form looming over him. "What's wrong?"

_Nightmare?_

"Please—" Dean sobbed.

Sam's breath caught at the broken sound of his brother's voice. Dean was reaching out for him and before Sam could do something about it, he was pulled against his older brother's chest with shocking urgency.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

He resisted the unexpected embrace since he was mindful of his brother's wound. However, his resistance only succeeded in making Dean more agitated. Sam finally gave in and let his brother hold him as he wrapped his own arms loosely around Dean's back, trying not to add much pressure. If Dean was in pain, he didn't show it, but merely clutched more fiercely at Sam. It was then that Sam realized his brother was burning up.

_Fever._

"Wake up," Dean was saying, as he shook him weakly. "Wake up."

"I'm awake, Dean," Sam said, trying to reassure him.

His brother didn't seem to hear him. He was rocking him. _Rocking _them both and that nearly undid Sam, because even though he knew it was the fever, he couldn't remember a time when Dean had held him like that.

"Dean," Sam swallowed, starting to pull away from his brother's warmth and do what he had to do, "I think your wound might be infected. You need to let me check it."

"No, no, no, no," Dean moaned, clinging to him even tighter. "Come here, it's alright…It's alright, I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

Sam frowned, suddenly overcome by a distant memory of pain, followed by numbness…by darkness. His brother's arms around him, his voice fading, but his words still audible next to his ear—

_It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright?_

Sam felt Dean's clumsy hands touching his back in his delirium, finding the scar. He shivered at the contact despite the heat of his brother's feverish skin.

"W-We are going to patch you up, okay? You'll be as good as new. Huh?" Dean said.

_I gotcha. It's my job, right, watch after my pain-in-the-ass little brother—_

"It's alright, Dean. We're not there anymore, you hear?" Sam tried again, but his own voice was hoarse now, betraying his tears as past and present became entangled in his mind.

"No… no-n-n-n-n-no," Dean cried. "Oh God. Oh God... Sam, please."

Dean started to shake as he fisted Sam's hair desperately. Sam closed his eyes and mimicked his brother's gesture, although he was gentler and trying to be comforting. Then his brother began to sob, and Sam sighed sadly and started running a hand up and down Dean's back.

"I'm fine," he whispered into his brother's hair, hoping to reach him. "We're both fine, bro," he added, as he gently massaged the tender skin behind Dean's ear.

Dean's silent sobbing was his only reply. His cries were muffled against his little brother's shoulder and an endless tirade of "No, Sammy, no" kept pouring from his lips. Taking a deep breath, Sam reached back and tried to disentangle Dean's hands from him. Dean let out something disturbingly similar to a whimper and struggled weakly against the prying hands.

"Shhh," Sam shushed, getting a firm grip on his protesting brother and pulling away a couple of inches so that he could look him in the eye. "Hey, hey. Look at me."

Dean looked at him. Or rather, he looked _through_ him. Now that Sam's eyes were accustomed to the dim light in the room, he could see that Dean's wet eyes were unfocused and glassy. He wasn't completely with it, not by a long shot.

"Sammy," Dean croaked, "d-don't die."

Sam felt his own chin tremble, and he bit the inner part of his cheek as he wiped the trail of tears from his brother's face. When he was more or less sure he'd be able to speak without choking, he forced out his most stern voice, one that demanded Dean's attention.

"Dean," he said, grabbing his brother's hands, "I'm not cold," he assured urgently, squeezing Dean's hands between his. "Don't you see? My chest's moving. Can't you feel my heart beating?"

Dean gulped. His hand trembled slightly inside Sam's, and the latter waited with baited breath for his reaction. _Any _kind of reaction. If Dean didn't snap out of it Sam was going to have to force him down to the bed and fight him to take a look at his wound, and he really, _really_, didn't want to do that.

A few seconds passed, and Sam started to lose hope. Then, suddenly, Dean blinked and for a fleeting moment Sam had the feeling Dean could finally see him for real. And damn if that wasn't the most extraordinary feeling he had experienced in the last few weeks.

Dean frowned and, slowly, he released his hands from Sam's grasp. Sam let him pull away, half reluctant half expectant, and remained perfectly still as Dean reached out and cupped the side of his neck. Sam's heart was pounding so hard, he had no doubt Dean could feel his racing pulse against his palm.

"Sammy?" he breathed.

His voice was tinged with confusion but it also held such raw need and affection that Sam felt his throat becoming impossibly tight. It was the hesitant, hopeful edge of his tone, though, that spurred Sam to get it together and ease his brother's distress.

"Yeah, man. I'm here." Sam reassured him softly.

Dean let out an undefined sound, low and vulnerable, coming from deep inside his chest. His fingers traced Sam's jaw and then paused again on his throat, effectively checking the rhythmic vibration of life being pumped through his arteries. A spark lit in his eyes when he finally registered Sam's pulse, followed by a mixture of love, fright and relieved tears so intense that Sam almost closed his own eyes in a reflexive action of self-preservation.

Only almost. Because now that Dean was finally seeing him, he was by no means going to break the connection, even if holding his gaze succeeded in tearing him apart. After all, Winchesters and self-preservation had always had a complicated relationship.

"Sammy." Dean repeated.

This time it wasn't a question, but a confirmation. Too moved to talk, Sam managed a shaky smile. He knew he had to get a grip. He knew that the more coherent Dean was, the easier it would be for him to notice the tears pooling in his eyes. It was so not the time for him to be weak.

However, Sam couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the situation, because he had finally recognized Dean's look. The look of a shell shocked little child who has been badly shaken. A child who still needs to cling to his mom or dad even after the danger has passed. A child who needed to cry his heart out before finally letting go of the fear.

It was the same look Dean had been giving him every time Sam had fallen asleep during the last month. Only, of course, there had been no tears to release his buried fears, and Sam wasn't Mom or Dad, nor was Dean the clingy type, at least if he was in control of himself.

"God, Dean," Sam whispered, almost to himself.

Dean's breathing evened out, and his eyelids grew heavier over his fevered pupils. He licked his lips and let out a groggy sound just before his body tilted forwards. Sam, who had been expecting this, grabbed his brother by the shoulders to ease him down on the bed, but Dean took his little brother's supporting embrace as permission and leaned heavily into Sam's body. The movement pulled at his stitches, and Dean let out a groan.

"Easy, man," Sam soothed, shifting so he could support Dean's side against him without jarring his abused body too much. "You with me? You need to lie down now, alright?"

Only half conscious, Dean didn't answer. He burrowed himself deeper into Sam, who could feel his panting breaths against the crook of his neck. Sam sighed and didn't try to pry himself off.

"Alright." he muttered. "Your way, then, jerk."

He had intended to sound resigned, but he couldn't stop the edge of fondness that seeped into his voice. Somehow there was no point in bitching about the awkwardness of the moment since the one person who may actually find it awkward was out of it.

And so, after giving Dean's shoulder a long squeeze, Sam leaned back against the headboard, pulled Dean with him gently, and breathed out his own exhaustion. He wouldn't be getting more sleep any time soon, but he was fine with it as long as he could watch over Dean. When he sensed that his brother had fallen asleep —_really_ asleep, instead of half there, half out cold—, he would ease him down on the bed and clean up the gash. Experience had taught him that a peak of fever was relatively normal after the kind of injury Dean had sustained. Even so, Sam would make sure there was no infection setting in. The fever would probably break by morning, and Dean would be okay after a couple of days rest.

If he managed to get some rest, that is.

Sam sighed again, rubbing Dean's arm absently up and down. He needed to do something to help his brother; he couldn't keep ignoring the serious problem they had. If he did, sooner or later it was going to explode in their faces again, and maybe then they wouldn't be so lucky.

There was some place they needed to go. Something they needed to do. Or, to be precise, something they should have done a long time ago. Dean wasn't going to like it. As a matter of fact, Sam wasn't so sure he was ready to go through it himself. But he would still try.

For Dean.

"Dammit, Dean. You're such a stupid asshole!" he thought, while he unconsciously pulled his brother closer to him. "And I love you so fucking much."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, this is the final installment. I hope you like it!**

**-Remember This-**

As Sam expected, Dean was much better by morning. His fever had broken, and he hadn't developed an infection after all. Besides, exhaustion had knocked him out until midday, and that was the longest period of time he had managed to sleep in the last few weeks. All things considered, Sam was almost glad Dean had sustained an injury, because he had been forced to rest during the aftermath.

Dean woke up a bit disoriented, but Sam had been expecting that too. At least this time, Sam told himself, he had made sure to be awake before his brother. He doubted he could ever forget the frightened look an unguarded Dean had fixed him with when he shook him awake the night before. He definitely didn't want to see it _ever_ again.

At first, Sam wasn't sure whether Dean would remember their little midnight crisis. In the end, he concluded that while Dean wasn't certain of what exactly he had said or done, he remembered part of it. At least it seemed that way, judging by how his brother took in that he wasn't lying in the bed he had fallen asleep in and the way he avoided Sam's gaze after. It took a good three hours until Sam's off-handed offers of food, drink, even _cards_ had convinced him that whatever it was that had happened, his little brother wasn't going to try to push him to talk about it.

They stayed at the motel for a couple of days, but soon enough it was clear that, despite the exhaustion derived from the blood loss, Dean wouldn't be able to get anymore sleep now that surrendering to the Sandman was up to him and not to unconsciousness. Sam decided it was better to get back to the road, and Dean was eager to agree. The moment the Impala roared to life with Sam behind the wheel, Dean fell asleep in the passenger's seat.

Sam sighed, relieved. Determined to follow his plan, he hit the road. He was immensely grateful at the same time that Dean remained asleep most of the way. It was definitely better like that.

Sam drove for ten hours straight before reaching his destination. Dean woke up a couple of times, asked vaguely where they were, offered to drive and after being brushed off, dozed off. When they finally got to their destination, Sam stopped the car and sighed, bracing himself for what was coming. He was worn out, almost to the point of collapse, but if he had to be honest, at that moment nervousness overrode exhaustion. Almost as if he sensed the absence of the engine's purring, Dean stirred and started to rouse.

"Hey," Sam greeted, as soon as he noticed his brother blinking dazedly out of the front window.

Dean gulped and turned his head in the direction of Sam's voice. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, and Sam didn't miss the appraising once-over Dean gave him before relaxing.

"Hey," the older Winchester replied finally, with a rough, sleepy voice, "you look like crap."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam replied with a smile. "Nice."

Dean smiled back and scrubbed his face before sitting upright.

"I mean it, Sam. You look beat. Let me drive for a while."

"It's okay." Sam said, shaking his head. "We're here."

"And where's _here_?" Dean asked with a hint of curiosity, as he looked around.

Sam swallowed and got out of the car without answering, trying to buy some time for himself as Dean recognized his surroundings. Nervously, Sam took a deep, steadying breath as he went around the car and took the time to look around for himself. His eyes soon found the familiar well with the ancient bell, and his stomach curled slightly.

_Cold Oak_. He had died near that well.

"Sam!" Dean's deep growl made Sam turn to his brother.

Dean had gotten out of the car and was leaning on the door. It was obvious that he had also recognized the place, and he was confused, angry...and more than a little upset.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, his words strained.

Sam glanced at the ground before looking up at Dean again.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, unnerved by his brother's silence.

Sam jumped a little and swallowed again.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, stepping towards his brother. "If I had told you, you—"

"Why.Are.We.Here?" Dean growled.

Sam stopped, noticing the glint of fear in his brother's eyes and finally getting it.

"It's alright," Sam assured quickly, his palms raised. "It's me, okay? There's nothing wrong."

Dean observed him warily. He seemed about to blurt 'Christo', just to be safe, but in the last moment, he apparently accepted that his little brother wasn't possessed.

"Then why are we here?" Dean repeated his previous question cautiously.

Sam suspected that his brother had relented because he didn't want to go through the scenario of him being possessed again, not because he really understood what was going on.

_Denial much, huh, big brother? Not anymore._

"Because I think you need to be here," Sam answered calmly.

Dean frowned, looking at Sam as if he had grown a second head. The younger sibling didn't miss the fact that Dean had stepped back, just a couple of inches, until his back was pressed against the car.

"Why would I need to come back here?" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam was unfazed by the heat in Dean's tone. He knew where it came from, and it only reassured him that they had to get past it. Dean needed to let go of the fear that had been eating him inside. It just hurt to feel that, as a projection of that fear, he was the one Dean was backing away from.

"I know it's hard to understand," he said, appeasingly. "I'm sorry, I can't explain better, Dean, it's just- Trust me, alright?" Sam pleaded. "Come with me?"

Dean ground his teeth. His eyes darted from Sam to the town behind him and back to Sam.

"No."

"No?"

"No." Dean rasped, looking down.

Sam stared at his brother for a second, unsure of how to proceed. Obviously, Dean had denied him many things through the years ─after all, he had practically raised him, and he hadn't always been able to grant every single one of his childhood's wishes─, but he couldn't remember a time when Dean had simply said _No._

_I can't. I don't want to. Don't ask me to do that._

Sam sighed and gave a short nod, before changing tactics.

"Okay. But _I _need to do this." Sam said. "You can wait for me here. I won't be long."

Uncomfortable with the idea of letting Sam out of his sight in _this _place, Dean looked up and met his brother's gaze. They looked into each other's eyes for a long, agonizing moment during which Dean begged Sam to let it go and Sam steeled himself against his brother plea. Finally, the older sibling gave a reluctant shrug. Sam knew that Dean still didn't like it, probably didn't understand it either, but he would let Sam do his thing if that's what he needed. Only then, with Dean's permission, did Sam walk away towards the village.

Sam walked slowly, scanning the shapes of the old houses as a wave of bitter memories and sensations enveloped him. He controlled the impulse to look back at Dean. If he did so, it would be clear how much he needed his brother with him, and that wouldn't be fair. He was the one who wanted to be here; Dean wasn't. Sam wouldn't impose himself when it came to something so important. When he got to the last spot he remembered before everything faded, he stopped and drew in a long breath. Then, he sat down on the ground, picked distractedly at the yellowish blades of dry grass and waited.

It wasn't long before Dean joined him, coming silently from behind.

"You're really determined to do this, huh?" Dean grunted.

Without looking up, Sam smiled to himself. He was pleased that Dean had followed, even if he wasn't sitting next to him, choosing instead to stand tensely by his side with clenched fists.

"I don't remember much," Sam said softly.

Dean didn't say anything. Sam sighed and continued.

"I was fighting with Jake and he...God, he was kicking my ass, I swear. He had this freaking super strength, and each blow he landed was like...I dunno ten times harder than a normal one."

Sam rolled his shoulder involuntarily, as if experiencing some phantom pain. The gesture dragged Dean's attention to him, and Sam felt his brother shift and come a bit closer.

"Somehow," Sam continued, "I remembered what Dad always told us, you know? That we would be fighting things stronger than us more times than not. 'It's not strength that matters, but brains,' he said. I still don't know how I took him. I just know that all of a sudden I had him on the ground. I could have killed him then. He...he expected me to kill him. But after all we had been through during the last couple of days I couldn't do it. He was...he was just like me, you know? He had been forced to make a difficult decision under pressure and had made the wrong choice. But God knows I've made some bad decisions along the way too—"

Ducking his head sheepishly, Sam trailed off and swallowed hard.

"That's when you called my name," he said affectionately, while picking at the grass again. "I...I didn't know what had happened to you when I was taken. I wasn't sure whether you were alive or—" Sam inhaled and gave a soft chuckle. "I almost thought I was dreaming when I saw you coming towards me. I don't think I've ever been happier to hear your voice."

"I distracted you," Dean blurted out.

Sam frowned and tossed a bewildered look at Dean, whose voice had sounded rough and guilt-ridden. At the same time, Dean crouched down and sat next to him without meeting his gaze.

"You didn't distract me," Sam said, shaking his head. "I let my guard down, forgot about the knife and turned my back on an adversary who wasn't finished. I was sloppy, and I should have known better. It wasn't your fault."

Dean set his jaw and didn't say anything. He sat Indian style, with his fists clenched on his knees and looking everywhere but at Sam. The latter sighed.

"Last thing I remember clearly is you shouting at me to look out. You tried to warn me, but I was too slow. I didn't even hear him coming, and then I felt this sharp, white hot pain across my back, like a spark."

Dean clenched his fists tighter, and his Adam's apple wobbled inside his throat.

"Nothing much after that," Sam concluded. "I know you caught me, and I…I could hear you talking to me although I couldn't make out the words. Sometimes I remember bits, when you say something, but...it's all fuzzy. All I know is that...I wasn't scared."

Dean looked at him, perplexed.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I guess…It didn't really hurt anymore, and I knew you were there, so…"

"You let go," Dean finished, his eyes flashing in anger. "Dammit, Sam, you knew I was there, and then you let the fuck go!"

Sam looked down, ashamed. He guessed that, in a way, he had. But having his spinal cord slashed did that to a person, right?

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Dean bit his lip and shook his head weakly. He didn't want Sam to apologize for _dying_. But Sam wasn't apologizing for that. Not exactly. He was apologizing, because once again he had managed to leave his brother, despite himself.

"Well, I remember everything," Dean breathed, averting his eyes again. He gulped and tried to sound casual, but the tension radiating from his body betrayed the gesture. "I saw the guy coming behind you and yelled but—" He blinked back the wetness in his eyes. "I tried, Sammy. I really tried."

"I know you did. I heard you, remember?" Sam said softly.

Dean shook his head again, haunted eyes fixed on the ground, trapped in the events that had taken place in that exact spot not so long ago.

"I remember watching you fall to your knees," Dean continued in a thick voice. "I tried to keep you upright, but I couldn't get you to stay awake. When you stopped looking at me, I started to shake you. I remember the blood seeping from your back—" Dean's voice fell, trembling dangerously. "I remember the exact moment your heart stopped beating against mine."

Sam placed a gentle hand over Dean fisted one, not so much intending to hold his brother's hand as to pull him back from the dark place memories had dragged him to. He wanted to remind Dean he was still there ―thanks to him, after all― no matter how awful that night had been. Dean dragged his gaze back to Sam, eyes unguarded for a second, and acknowledged his brother's gesture with a faint smile. He loosened his clenched hand and let out a sigh before the younger brother let him go.

"I remember holding you. I don't know for how long," Dean continued in a slightly firmer tone, although it still maintained an edge of melancholy. He let out a soft laugh and added, "I remember punching Bobby when he tried to take you from me."

Sam smiled back at Dean, who was finally looking him in the eye.

"I remember carrying you to the car," Dean said, sighing. "You were limp, Sammy…and no matter how many times I put your head on my shoulder it…it kept rolling back." Sam looked down, overwhelmed by the pain retelling the events had brought into Dean's voice. "Bobby didn't even need to offer to drive. He just took the keys from my pocket and slipped behind the wheel without trying to help me carry you. He knew I wouldn't let him touch you. I put you into the back seat and climbed in with you. I kept saying your name—" Dean closed his eyes. "With your head in my lap, you looked like you were just asleep. I wanted to believe you were just asleep, but you wouldn't open your eyes—" Dean's voice broke, and he fell silent.

Sam dragged in a deep breath and then exhaled, feeling the weight of his brother's words rolling like a rock over his chest. The younger hunter realized now that all the time he had been too appalled by what had happened and especially by the deal Dean had made, he had almost forgotten what his brother had been through that night. He had just surrendered to the cold numbness of death, safely wrapped in his brother's arms. Dean had been the one left behind to deal with it.

"Dean?" Sam asked gently. "Wanna know a secret?"

The older hunter fixed him with a quizzical look.

"I wasn't asleep," Sam said gravely. "I was _dead_."

"Sammy, don't," Dean interrupted him. "Don't say that."

"I'm sorry, bro, but I died here, alright? It happened, and there's nothing I can do to change that. But I'm not dead anymore," Sam said sternly. "I'm not, because I've got a reckless ass of a brother who did the most stupid thing _ever._" Dean averted his eyes, but Sam grabbed him by the arm to make him keep his gaze. "And he shouldn't have done it. And sometimes I'm so pissed at him for doing it that I want to beat the hell out of him. But I can't change it either. I'm alive. _Alive_ thanks to _you._"

Dean breathed in shakily and looked down. Sam didn't push him to meet his eyes again. He knew his brother was listening.

"You insist on reliving this…failure or whatever you think it was."

"Sam," Dean warned.

"But the thing is you didn't fail. You did save me, Dean. And I'm gonna save you too," he concluded softly. "But you gotta help me out. You gotta want to get past that day."

"I _want_ to get past that day, Sam," Dean protested, somewhat aggravated.

"And yet, you've been coming back here every time I close my eyes."

Dean gulped and something similar to hurt shone in his eyes when he fixed them onto his brother's. Sam was referring to something he had learned thanks to Dean's delirium and to use that information was like taking advantage of him. However, it wasn't the time for Sam to feel guilty.

"Not anymore, Dean," Sam said firmly. "This place has haunted us both for too long, and it ceases to have that power _today_. We are both here, _alive_. And we're going to leave now, _together_, like we should have in the first place."

On that note, Sam got to his feet and offered his hand to Dean. Dean didn't react straightaway, since he was still puzzled by his brother's words and vehemence. When he finally took Sam's hand and let his brother haul him up, he somehow ended up pulled into an unexpected hug that, first, made him stiffen and then, brought fresh tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry about last time," Sam whispered as soon as he felt Dean timidly returning the embrace, "but when you came in and hugged me all of a sudden, you...you freaked me out, man. I should have done this before."

Swallowing convulsively, Dean shook his head against his brother's shoulder and held him tighter. Sam closed his eyes.

"You've told me how it was back then. You've told be what you remembered. From now on, I want you to remember how it is _now_. I want you to remember _this,_" he told his brother. He willed his breath to be even and his heart to beat steadily, because he was perfectly aware that Dean was sensing them. Gauging them. Keeping their measure.

"Just remember this."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The brothers lay silently on their beds, exhausted after the long day. A gentle breeze blew through the flimsy curtains, and there was something soothing about their lazy swinging. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Sam heard Dean sigh and shifted to look across the bed at his brother. Dean was on his back, blinking lazily at the ceiling.

"I'm alright, Sam," Dean muttered, without taking his eyes off the ceiling.

He seemed calm, almost peaceful, but apparently he was still refusing to sleep. Sam swallowed and chewed at his lower lip worriedly.

"You are?"

"Yeah."

"But you're not sleeping."

Dean smiled softly.

"It's just…It's hard to let go."

Sam nodded against his pillow.

"Do you want me to stay awake?" Sam whispered.

"No." Dean let his eyes drop closed. "No, I'll be fine."

"But you said—"

"I said it's hard," Dean said, glancing at Sam, "but I'm working on it."

And that was a _Thanks, Sammy_; that much Sam knew. When he couldn't hold back the goofy grin from blossoming on his mouth, Dean rolled his eyes and looked back at the ceiling with a snort.

"You're such a girl," he huffed fondly. "Although I admit you were pretty bossy today."

"Learned from the best."

"Hell, yeah," Dean said, and chuckled.

"You sure you're okay with this?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I've got something to remember now."

Sam's smile grew wider, and he relaxed into his pillow.

"Okay," he accepted sleepily. "Just wake me up if you need me to remind you."

"Thanks," Dean whispered back, although it was clear in his voice that he was already beginning to drift off too. "Goodnight, Sammy."

"Goodnight, Dean."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**That was it, my friends. I hope it was worth your time. As usual, it's been a pleasure to share my ramblings.**

**Love xx**


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